Dear Diary

2. GRIEVING

Monday, August 26th

S A M A R A

Emptiness. That's the appropriate way to describe the feeling.

Emptiness.

It's true what they say about denial. It came first, and it came fast. I couldn't believe Sidney was dead when Mom told me. Even now as I drive down the street, I question if it's all a nightmare I've yet to awake from.

It's insane to think I was with her that night, laughing and deciding weekend plans. Then a couple hours later she was dead. No warning. No goodbye.

Just gone.

All I've done since, is ask why. I don't know who I'm asking, though. God? The universe? My interest in religion has only ever been vague, but I keep questioning. And much like the police investigating Sidney's case, I have no answers.

I can't think straight. I can't sleep. I can barely eat. Mom tries her best to console me, but there's nothing she can do to make this better—to make this pain go away. She offered to let me skip school, but I told her I can handle it. A lie I told myself as well. I don't have to force myself to come, yet that's precisely what I'm doing. As if my being at school is some huge demonstration of strength everyone needs to see.

No one's even asking me to be strong.

I feel like I'm shrouded in darkness, but looking out the window of my car, it's just the opposite. Per usual the morning sun is hovering above, high and mighty and delivering its warm rays as I navigate downtown, passing by small businesses and food vendors. The town isn't anything special, and really the only thing going for it is that it's on California's southern coast, so beach life is pretty popular. But at the very least it was peaceful. And now that's gone too.

I'm second guessing my decision to come to school as I pull into a parking spot, because I know what's coming. Everyone's going to be talking about it. Grovesville is too small a place, and Grovesville High is too small a school.
I look in the rearview mirror. My eyes are slightly puffy. Not as bad as yesterday, or even an hour ago. From a distance people won't be able to tell I spent the entire night bawling.

I pull my eyes from the mirror and down to my phone. I only intended to check the time, but the screensaver of my dad and I distracts me. I gaze longingly at it, the invisible grip on my heart squeezing tighter. This is my favorite picture of us. We forced Mom to take it while strolling through a park one day. We're seated on a bench, his arm over my shoulder as my puckered lips are about to meet his cheek. His smile radiates, even through a still image. Looking at it almost makes me smile, too.

Almost.

A knock on my window startles me. I turn to see my friend, Kelly Tran, looking in at me through hooded eyes. She gestures for me to step out and I open the door to do so.

"Hey," she says.

"Hi," I say, closing the door.

Concern is plastered on her freckled face like she thinks I might break down at any second. "How are you doing?" I give her a shrug, already noticing a handful of people with their eyes on us. She says, "Right. Stupid question. I'm worried about you."

"I know. It's been . . ." I trail off. It hasn't been two minutes on the school premises and I'm already about to cry.

She rubs my back. "It's okay. God knows I've cried my tears."

"I want to get through the day in peace."

"Good luck. It's all anyone's talking about," she says, taking her arm away. Then she gasps, eyes fixated ahead of us. "Oh my God."